


I am your new…candidate?

by LadyTineapple



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 2016 US Presidential Election, Crack, bunker!fic, crack!fic, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 15:01:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6758818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyTineapple/pseuds/LadyTineapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Cas decides to run for president, because why not. Still a better candidate than Trump.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I am your new…candidate?

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd and quickly written, so apologies for any possible mistakes. Feel free to correct anything.

“Dammit, Cas.” Dean paced up and down the library of the bunker, as Sam watched, jaw dropped and brows high. “That’s not the plan we agreed on!”

“Dean, I’ve got everything under control,” Cas assured him from the other end of the line.

“Oh, yeah, you always say that. God—You were only supposed to pretend to be an agent and question a few people, how did you even get there?”

“These people need a leader, Dean.”

“Yeah, I know that, they know that, but it’s not you.”

“Why not?”

“I thought you don’t even want to be a leader!” Dean practically shrieked and threw an arm up, his pace coming to an abrupt halt. “Didn’t you always complain about it?”

“Angels, yes,” Cas mumbled. “They are…difficult. But this is different. I can really reach out to these people, they are willing to listen, and I am able to guide.”

“Cas, this is the worst idea you’ve ever had,” Dean said with a resigned shake of his head. “And trust me, buddy, you had a lot of bad ideas.”

“Thanks,” Cas deadpanned, until voices started rising up around him. “Dean, I have to go.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m telling you—” Before he could finish his sentence, Cas had already hung up on him. He pursed his lips, shooting the still glowing display another look and hung up as well.

Sam already waved him over, back to the table, his eyes fixed on the small screen of the TV they had found in one of the rooms and carried over for the time being. “It’s starting.”

“Oh this is going to be great,” Dean said and rolled his eyes as he dragged himself back over, dropping into a chair just in time to see Castiel take the stage and position himself behind the podium, barely smiling or waving.

For a few moments cheers and calls mixed, cutting off all other noise. Only when Cas had picked someone out, the room became quiet, and one lone person stood, pen in the air. “You’re new in the race and almost nobody knows anything about you. Could you tell us a little about yourself, finally clear some mysteries?”

“Uh, well,” Cas frowned a little and nodded. “I suppose. What do you want to know?”

“You got a wife?” the reporter asked, a sleazy grin crossing his face, and he wiggled his brows in a way that made Dean a little nauseous, although he was fully aware that he would have done the same.

“No,” Cas said only.

“Why not?”

“That is a very personal question.” Cas tilted his head, brows furrowed as if he was surprised by the sheer invasiveness.

“What, you gay?” the reporter asked with a shrug. Again, voices roared up.

“No,” Cas said again, a little more firm.

“You into dick?” the reporter kept taunting, his sleazy grin spreading.

“Actually, a friend and I were very determined to stop Dick Roman from poisoning you and everyone else in the country a few years back and risked everything for that—you’re welcome.”

His sharp remark, left only silence. The reporter stood, every hint of a smile or grin blown away. He blinked a couple of times, then shook his head. “Okay. Uh, well, what about…Are you even christian?”

“I’m an angel, you ass,” Cas snapped.

“An angel,” the reporter repeated with a scoff. “Right. And I’m cupid.”

“You’re no cupid, I’d know if you were,” Cas replied. Laughter erupted from the audience.

Behind his hand, Dean shook his head, no longer bearing to watch that farce, while Sam only made a pitiful face. “Poor guy,” Sam said, making Dean sink even further into himself.

“Actually,” a woman’s voice added, rising out of the crowd, “a few people have noticed a similarity between you and the man who killed several preachers throughout the country a few years back. Any connections?”

“Oh, that,” Cas said slowly, frowning at his feet.

“Don’t do it,” Dean whispered, closing his eyes. “Don’t. Don’t, don’t, don’t. Don’t tell them you killed them, just don’t.”

“You do realise he can’t hear you, right?” Sam asked with a huff. “Even with his hearing.”

“Shut up,” Dean only spat and scooted closer, eyes fixed on the screen. “Come on, Cas.”

“No, that wasn’t me,” Cas finally said. “Although, yes, we practically do look exactly the same.”

“Your twin?” the reporter asked before Cas could go on.

“No, we are not actually related. We did, uh, the person who did that did try to latch onto me, but I can assure you, I do not support those acts. Although I don’t approve of the lies those people spread either,” he added more quietly and rolled his eyes.

“So are you saying they got what they deserved?”

“No. All I’m saying is that as president of the United States, I wouldn’t support churches that cast out individuals for things like their sexual orientation or their gender, or race. Especially not coming from hypocrites like they turned out to be. However, murder is…completely out of the question at any point.”

Several voices spoke up at once. One managed to rise above the others and asked, “So does that mean if you were president you wouldn’t support the death penalty?”

“It’s a completely archaic method,” Cas said with a horrified look. “In fact, it shouldn’t have existed anymore in a long, long time.”

“Then how do you want to deal with mass murderers and worse?”

“The key to dealing with those things lies in understanding an individual. Someone who has been hurt throughout their entire life is going to lash out again. That is not right, but understanding that opens the door to appropriate treatment and help to keep them from committing acts like that again, and perhaps it will helps to prevent new ones.”

“You still didn’t tell us whether you run as democrat or republican,” another voice called.

“I think that question answers itself.”

Several voices shouted either of the parties across each other. Behind the screen, Dean shook his head in disbelief and scooted away.

“Neither,” Cas spat. “Why do I have to pick one of the two parties when I can just…be myself? Why does everything always have to be one of two extremes for you? There are so many shades of grey. There are so many other colours as well. Why do you insist on these two and try to squeeze people into either side with force? Even the founding fathers didn’t approve of a two-party system.”

The room was struck silent. Behind the screen, Sam and Dean sat, their jaws dropped and blinking in surprise. “Well,” Sam said after a moment. “I did not see that coming.”

Dean shook his head in silent agreement.

Someone whispered something into Cas’ ear and he nodded. “If you’ll excuse me, it seems I have a few more appointments,” he said. “Thank you for your time and your questions.”

With another man guiding him, he left the stage again, coat fluttering behind him.

“Well,” Sam said with a long sigh and switched the TV off while Dean rubbed over his face. “That was something.”

“You think?”

Sam shrugged. “Still better than Trump.”

Dean huffed with a tired look. “Even if Cas wasn’t running, that guy almost made me want to go vote this year, and I’m not even registered.”

“You can’t be registered because you’re supposed to be dead and a searched killed, Dean,” Sam reminded him with firm voice.

“I know that, that’s the point.” Dean exhaled a sigh, letting silence stretch between them for a moment. “You think Cas can beat him? Because right now he looks like the nutjob of the year.”

“So did Trump and see where he is. And honestly, Cas would do a good job, I think.”

“You really think Cas can run a country?”

“Sure. It will mostly run on a strange mix of order and flowers, but it could work.”

A small noise escaped Dean as he stared ahead. Then he shook his head, and downed his drink in one go. “Better than Trump any day,” he agreed.


End file.
